


Bone Cold

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: Honou no Miraju | Mirage of Blaze
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kagetora is injured on a mission; Naoe is surprised by the result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bone Cold

Kagetora-sama’s face is cold and clammy; a thin veneer of sweat beads up just below his hairline. The boy is sprawled on the ground, exhausted, feverish—that last incantation took far too much of his energy. Naoe can practically feel his master’s exhaustion radiate off him in waves. 

The younger man doesn’t even protest when Naoe gathers him up, lifts him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, heavy head on his shoulder, long, slender legs dangling from the crook of his elbow—he’s carrying Kagetora as he would a bride. Not only does Kagetora decline to object; he actually drapes his arm across Naoe’s shoulders and sighs.

This scares Naoe shitless. “Are you in need of a hospital, Kagetora-sama?”

The boy blinks sluggishly and tries to shake his head, but it takes too much effort. “Naoe . . . just sleep . . .”

“Yes, my lord.”

Naoe nods to the others. They head silently to the car. Chiaki takes the wheel—it is not lost on Naoe that Yuzuru immediately sits in the passenger seat. Despite everything, those two have been working on an unspoken bond, of sorts, and Naoe doesn’t really care, he’s just mildly amused that Takaya’s little friend doesn’t even think about trying to get close anymore, even when Takaya's injured. By now, leaving that to Naoe is ingrained.

Haruie gracefully slides into the back and turns an expectant glance his way. He carefully, so carefully, hands Kagetora to her, then goes around and gets in on the right. No sooner does the door close then the boy crawls into his lap, turning until his back is pressed up against the sun-warmed window and his head is tucked under Naoe’s chin.

Everyone in the car freezes.

No one is more surprised than Naoe.

“Kagetora-sama?” he breathes.

It’s true; there isn’t really enough room in the rental car for Takaya’s body to stretch out comfortably and it’s clear the man wants to rest—craves sleep, actually. It’s just bizarre that Kagetora would slip into his arms so willingly. Anything resembling sentimentality or dependency would usually enrage him. Naoe can’t help but wonder if this more Takaya’s doing than Kagetora. 

“I’m tired, Naoe,” his master whispers back. “I’m so tired.” His voice breaks here, and Naoe’s eyes widen.

“Sleep.” He strokes black hair back from the damp forehead. 

Naoe spends the rest of the car ride back from the shrine counting the warm puffs of Kagetora’s breath as each one caresses his neck. The boy is completely slumped against him, dead to the world, and it aches, it makes his heart twist and wring, and it doesn’t help that Chiaki and Haruie are staring at him as if their master had grown three heads—he’s too exhausted to realize what he’s doing, obviously, Naoe wants to shout.

It’s not love. Not love. Not even trust.

The sun slinks behind the mountains by the time they reach Naoe’s hotel. He’s not taking Takaya home; the boy’s sister would probably want to take him to the emergency room. 

“I’m taking him upstairs,” he announces, though he needn’t have, since that appears obvious to everyone else. “Haruie, I’ll need the first aid kit in the trunk. Chiaki, wait for her to come back and then take everyone home.”

Chiaki nods. “What about your car?”

Kagetora shifts in his arms, clinging a little to his shirtfront with a frown. 

“Later.” He doesn’t care; it doesn’t matter. 

Haruie follows them into the elevator—his back is ramrod straight, daring any other guests or staff to question why this boy is passed out in his arms. They’ll think he had too much to drink, he hopes. It doesn’t matter. He needs to get Kagetora clean and bandaged and under warm covers, as soon as possible. 

“Put the kit on the table,” he murmurs, gently kicking the door open and making straight for the bed. 

“Let me help you,” she offers.

“No.” Quiet. Insistent. An order. “Thank you. Chiaki and Yuzuru are waiting.”

“Naoe . . .” she trails off.

Several minutes tick by. He brushes soft bangs back—Takaya still has a fever and it worries him.

“We almost lost him tonight.” He will not cry, not tear up; Kagetora would slap him across the face for such a display, if he were remotely conscious. 

“You were there to catch him. You always are.” Haruie bows and closes the door behind her. 

Desperate for something to do besides stand there and worry, Naoe gets the med kit, the smooth antiseptic bottle’s weight comforting in his hand, grabs a package of gauze and several strips of band-aids and he’s good to go.

He lays all that stuff on the bed and begins unbuttoning Takaya’s shirt. Little red cuts have left little red stripes to bleed onto the snow-white of his school uniform. Naoe tends to them; he does this slowly and tenderly, turning it into a ritual. Kagetora does not flinch in his sleep.

A fat bandage goes around the boy’s wrist—it was badly sprained and has bruised an eggplant-purple. The rest of the abrasions are pretty minor; inevitabilities of a hard battle. 

Kagetora could not afford the luxury of mercy. Naoe was ordered to make that message clear four hundred years ago. It still hurt.

He takes off Takaya’s scuffed shoes, but leaves the socks on because he doesn’t want the boy to catch cold; he removes the belt because its buckle is hard and will poke Takaya’s black-and-blue abdomen if he rolls around in his sleep. 

No, he’s good. He’s fine. It’s just the fever, the exhaustion. Exorcism always takes a lot out of them, naturally, but this . . . Naoe doesn’t know what this is. 

Kagetora was always bright as a flame; it’s disconcerting to see him flicker so dimly. What a silly thought, though. Naoe chastises himself, putting the medical supplies away and then hanging up his jacket in the closet. He toes off his shoes and rips off his tie and thinks he should probably fix himself a drink, but then Kagetora’s low voice rumbles out into the dark hotel room.

“Naoe . . .”

He starts, kneeling instantly at the bedside. “My lord?”

Tiger’s eyes, gleaming through the slits of Takaya’s eyelids. “Naoe.”

“Yes?” He moves closer, hand instinctively pressing to his master’s flushed cheek.

“My back . . . is cold . . .”

Naoe frowns. Does he want another blanket? Naoe could call downstairs for one . . .

“Warm . . . it . . . up for m-me?” Kagetora coughs, but his eyes are sharp and arrogant. As if he already knows the answer. The mouth, however, curves bashfully—that would be Takaya, there—and it takes tremendous effort for Kagetora to roll to his side and turn his head to entreat Naoe.

Wordlessly, he slides into bed and scooches up behind the boy, until they are flush together, Naoe’s lips but a breath from Kagetora’s ear, his left arm gingerly resting over Kagetora’s ribcage. Kagetora’s hand slips under his, he threads their fingers together, and it’s all Naoe can do to keep his breathing even. 

“Kagetora-sama . . .” Want, thick and hot and hard, stretches between them.

“Don’t you dare let me go,” the younger man growls.

Naoe swallows. “Never.”

He stays awake while Kagetora sleeps. Fourteen hours later, Kagetora gets up without a glance back and goes to take a shower; Naoe is left palming the sheets, struggling to capture the last of Kagetora’s warmth.


End file.
